


Sherlock's New Desires

by Etaleah



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bottom John, Crying Sherlock Holmes, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Time, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Inexperienced Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Intimacy, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, John is a Saint, M/M, Mild Smut, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Romance, Scared Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Shy Sherlock, Some Plot, Top Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etaleah/pseuds/Etaleah
Summary: Sherlock discovers he has a kink and is ashamed at first. John will soon fix that.





	Sherlock's New Desires

Sherlock doesn’t know how or when it started, only that he feels it even more intensely than a drug craving. All. The. Time.

He blames whoever built 221B for giving it such high cabinets, or maybe the Watson genetics for making John short. If it weren’t for them, John wouldn’t have to reach so high to grab what he needs to make his morning cuppa, and Sherlock wouldn’t have to see it. Every time he sees it, it torments him to no end.

John’s arms go up, and as they do, his shirt goes up with them. Little by little, up and up and up, slowly revealing that mound of flesh that makes Sherlock lick his lips and unable to look away. It looks soft enough to bury his face in, and god does he want to. He can’t stop noticing how smooth and pretty and pristine it is, surprisingly hairless but even more beautiful for it. Damn his detail-oriented brain.

All too quickly the shirt goes back down and Sherlock wants to cry out in protest. He wasn’t done looking. To be fair, however, he’ll probably never be done looking. He tries his best to act like he doesn’t want to tackle John to the nearest horizontal surface and rip his shirt off, but the casework in front of him is not a sufficient distraction.

He wants to see it again, almost as much as he wants to touch it. 

* * *

 

A case has not come in months, and Dr. Watson insists that Sherlock needs exercise. He claims it will help with black moods and low energy level and not sleeping well. Sherlock grumbles but obliges. Since London is boiling in July, they go to an indoor pool at a nearby facility. They’ve come at a bad time; the pool is divided into screeching children splashing everything and everyone around them and seniors doing a water aerobics class.

Needless to say, they choose the water aerobics class. It is Sherlock’s ultimate undoing.

John is wearing a white T-shirt because he’s self-conscious about his scar and doesn’t want people asking him questions, but it’s not long enough to save his boyfriend. They can only be on this side of the pool if they’re participating in the class, so they do. John jumps and does high knees and jumps and lifts barbells and jumps and every time, every _damn time_ , that shirt comes up. His navel is winking at Sherlock, beckoning him closer. The thought of Mycroft in a speedo is the only thing saving Sherlock from contaminating this pool.

What’s even worse is that the water would make it so perfect. If only these people would go away and John wouldn’t think him mad, Sherlock could take him in his arms, lift him and cradle him with the water bearing most of his weight, and push up that shirt and never pull it back down again. He would finally run his hand over his favorite feature of John’s body, taste it, nuzzle it, kiss it. He has never wanted anything so badly.

But he can’t, so he must satisfy himself with what John will accept. When the class is over _at last_ , he puts on a loving smile, thanks John for insisting he do this because now he feels much better, and hugs him tight. John is surprised, but he hugs back and _mmmm._ Sherlock can feel it, right up against his own. It’s cold now in the water, but the softness is welcoming. He doesn’t want to let go and pulls John in closer to press their tummies together until John asks, “Everything okay?” in a voice so heartbreakingly concerned that Sherlock is forced to end it.

“Fine,” he says, and even he doesn’t think it’s convincing. He adds, “I just love you so much.”

John smiles. “I love you too.”

Sherlock drops his happiness the second John turns away. He wonders if John would stop loving him if he knew what Sherlock has been thinking about him.

* * *

 

Sherlock feels like a sick perverted bastard with how he handles this development. Anytime he and John are moving around the flat, he is suddenly the clumsiest man on earth. Bumping into John, tripping and colliding with his head or his hand strategically placed for just a quick touch— _oh. Ohhhh._ The contact is fleeting, only seconds long, but he can already tell it’s as soft and warm and squishy as he imagined. God now he wants it even more.

One of these incidents results in John briefly getting the breath knocked out of him, and after ascertaining that his love is okay, his hand is on John’s belly, and it’s rising up and down fast as he lies on his back struggling to take in air. There’s a tiny bit of skin visible through the gap in his buttons and Sherlock can’t stop staring at it and John’s shirt has risen just a little but even with it mostly on, his skin is still so warm. It’s mesmerizing.

“Sherlock?” He jumps and bites back a yelp. “Um.” He follows John’s eyes and is mortified. How the fuck had he not noticed?

“Right, I’ll just—sorry.” He gets up and rushes to the bathroom and locks himself in and pushes his tears back with one hand while the other starts rubbing to make the evidence of his lust go away. John has undoubtedly figured it out. He’s figured out that Sherlock has a crazy kink he can’t explain and will think he was a freak like everyone else does.  

A knock on the door. “Sherlock, are you all right?”

“Just taking care of business, John,” he says after swallowing back more tears.

“I could help with that, you know.”

Sherlock has to laugh at that, or maybe it’s a sob. _No, John. You can’t help me._

Another knock. “Please let me in.” Sherlock can’t resist John when he says please. He opens the door, just having finished the job and flushed the toilet.

John takes one look at his undoubtedly red nose and eyes and holds his hand. “Come on.” He leads Sherlock to their bed and lies back with him. “Now I know there’s something you’re not telling me. What I don’t understand is why. You know you can tell me anything.”

Sherlock wants to believe that, but once the words are spoken, he can’t take them back. “It’s nothing important.”

“Anything that gets you this upset is important,” John says gently. “Please be honest: is it drug-related?” Sherlock shakes his head and John is visibly relieved. “Is it related to us? Our intimacy?”

He and John have only just become “a thing.” They’ve been sharing a bedroom and kisses for about two blissful months and have occasionally gotten passionate and pleasured each other, but there’s been no penetrating yet. Neither of them is ready and they’re taking it slow. Or at least, they’re supposed to be. Sherlock is clearly failing at his end of the bargain.

Sherlock nods his head and his heart starts to rush, he knows it’s all going to come out and now he just wants to get it over with so he can face the aftermath. “I…I have a kink. Or maybe it’s a fetish—or more like, an urge. I’m not sure.” He looks down and scoots under the covers to hide his face. God, he’s so stupid. What the hell is wrong with him?

“What kind?”

What kind? There is no kind. Nobody else has these weird, crazy, cringe-worthy thoughts. Only Sherlock would have such a strange fantasy. He stays silent.

John is kind enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. He strokes his face and Sherlock leans into the touch. “Sherlock, I told you I’d be open to exploring new things with you. If there’s something you want to try, you can say so. I _want_ you to say so.”

“What if you think it’s crazy?” Sherlock can’t face him.

“Well I won’t know until I try, right?” Seeing Sherlock is still reluctant, he cautiously asks, “Does this kink involve one of us being in pain or in danger? Does it involve children or family members? Is it illegal? Will it hurt anyone else?” Receiving vigorous _no, god no,_ responses with correlating head shakes each time, John smiles. “Then it’s nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock squeezes John’s hand. “You promise you won’t laugh at me?”

“I promise.”

“I…” Now that he can finally say it, Sherlock doesn’t know how to. He tries to think of an euphemistic way to put it and finally blurts out, “I love your stomach.”

John is the picture of confusion. “Um, thank you?”

“No, I mean,” Sherlock is frustrated with himself, why can’t he find the words he’s looking for? “I want to…to touch it and kiss it. A lot.”

John stays silent for a few seconds, apparently thinking there’s more, then his smile widens. “Oh Sherlock, is that all?”

“You promised,” he reminds him.

John kisses him. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. In fact,” he turns so he’s facing the ceiling and moves the pillow under his head, “Go ahead.”

“And do what?”

John answers with a sexy smile and uses one hand to slowly, tantalizingly, pull his shirt up. Sherlock can feel his erection returning already.

“Really?” Can his wish be coming true? He moves to straddle John’s legs. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” John puts his hands behind his head, relaxing. “Do whatever you like. It’s all yours.”

This must be a dream. Sherlock never thought John would react so well, let alone give him what he’d been craving so long. There it is, right below him, and he can have it. He smiles. Sherlock carefully caresses it and closes his eyes. He’s already storing data on the gentle curve, the slight dip where John’s navel is, the sides, all of it. Barely a minute passes before touching is not enough.

Sherlock shifts down to straighten his knees and puts his tongue to that sweet skin. He and John moan in unison, it tastes so good. Better than he imagined. Sherlock trails down until he comes to the dip of that innie, bathing it and eliciting giggles from John.

“Sh-Sherlock, that tickles!” He’s laughing and it’s making his belly come alive, moving beneath Sherlock and the latter loves it. He wants more. Before he can think too much about it, he sends his arms under John’s back and lifts him up slightly so they can be closer and Sherlock’s tongue has easier access. He takes advantage of the shortened distance to gently suck on that same area while putting an ear to the doughy flesh rising out of it, listening to the gurgles of John’s digestive system. The most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

What makes it even better is that John seems to be enjoying himself too. “Oh, Sherlock, fuck I wish you’d told me about this before, this is—mm!” He’s getting hard down there, it’s poking Sherlock’s stomach. He can’t stop now though, this is too good. This is everything he wanted and more. He sucks harder and faster and applies more pressure on John’s back so he’s lifted even further into Sherlock’s mouth and John grips his arms and throws his head back and moans.

When this position becomes uncomfortable and Sherlock can’t keep holding John up, he lets him down and finally buries his face in that warmth and softness. He nuzzles it over and over before relaxing into it as John’s fingers stroke his hair. Sherlock can’t remember ever feeling so at peace and so relieved. However, they’re both still hard and getting harder. John’s fingers move to the back of Sherlock’s head and pushes it down. Sherlock smiles and kisses the skin beneath him until John moans with impatience, then resumes covering his navel with his mouth, licking and sucking and pressing his face as deep into John’s belly as it will go. John spreads his legs and Sherlock unzips John’s trousers and pulls them and his pants down, and John is relieved.

Sherlock takes John’s cock in his hand and strokes it while continuing with his mouth, applying more pressure in both places. John cries with delight, thrusting himself forward and clutching Sherlock’s shoulders and back. When both of them are pulsing and throbbing so much they can barely see straight, Sherlock removes his own trousers and pants and decides to try one more thing. It takes some adjustment, but soon he’s grinding hard and fast against John’s belly while sucking his neck more and more and more and more—until they’re both spent and panting and Sherlock returns to his previous position. He begins to lick his lover clean and rest his face in that fleshy pillow once more.

“God, that was incredible,” John says when he can speak. “We’ve got to do that again.”

* * *

 

Oh, they do. John knowing Sherlock’s kink is both a blessing a curse, because he makes a point of wearing the tightest shirts he can find and stretching his arms as much as he can. When no one is looking, he’ll even swing his hips while leaning forward with his shirt raised to torture Sherlock, who always has to restrain himself from tackling John then and there. Sherlock returns the favor by fattening John up, feeding him the fattiest foods he can find so he’ll be nice and plump. To his surprise and delight, John is happy to go along and they both blow him up like a balloon—within reason, of course, as he doesn’t want to risk his health or stamina. When John really wants Sherlock’s attention, he’ll squeeze himself into the smallest shirt he can find, leave just a few buttons open or bend over so they pop, and stroke himself as if he were pregnant. Despite the extra weight, he never gets too big for Sherlock to scoop him into his arms and bring his belly to his mouth while his hands grope greedily. Later on they add some whipped cream and Sherlock learns where John is the most ticklish and where a raspberry will get him giggling. He makes him laugh until it hurts.

Sherlock’s kink isn’t the last one they explore, but it remains one of their favorites. After a while, they don’t even think of it as a kink. John can be sitting up in bed reading as part of his therapist-recommended nightly ritual to help him sleep, and Sherlock gently rests his head and hand right in the middle of his boyfriend’s body, listening to it digest his dinner and falling asleep to the rhythmic up and down, up and down. John strokes his hair long after he’s fallen asleep and lets that warm weight and the even breaths against his bare skin soothe himself into sleep as well.

Neither has ever felt more loved.     


End file.
